" Who are those officers in blue, with grey, yellow, and red facings — apparently men of rank, with stars and crowns and lace on their collars?"
" They are of the Land Transport Corps — captains and quartermasters of brigade."
f Hallo! is there a theatrical company here? Who're the queer-looking chaps with the huntsmen-m-I)w- JFrcisc7iutz-ea,])S and tunics, smoking short pipes, and driving their carts like so many Jehus?"
" Well, we have the Zouave Theatre and the Sailors' Theatre, but these men belong to Colonel McMurdo, and certainly they have let their hats get cruelly out of shape; they were neat enough and looked well while the rosettes were clean, but now "
" And who are the gentlemen in grey, with black braid and swords, and pouch-belts and telescopes — some new riflemen, eh? — capital dress for sharpshooters."
" Why, dear me, sir, don't you know those are harmless civilians, who neither wish to shoot any one or to be shot at themselves?
CRIMEA.
They are civil engineers and civilians belonging to your recently formed Army Works Corps."
" Hallo! here's another — what's he? a felt helmet with a spike in it and brass binding — a red frock with black braid — a big horse — a cavalry man, eh? "
" Well, he's one of the Mounted Staff Corps, and he gets as much as an Ensign in the line for being ready to go anywhere — when he's wanted." *
" Who's that drunken fellow — an old soldier in the odd uniform, with medals on his breast? "
" Hush! he's the last one left of the Ambulance Corps. They cost a lot of money, and did some good, but McMurdo won't have them now, unless he gets his own way with them, and-—"
" I beg your pardon, but who is that foreign officer in a white bourn ous, and attended by a brilliant staff of Generals — him with the blue and silver stripe down his trousers I mean, and gold braid on his waistcoat, and a red and white cap; it must be Pelissier? "
" That! why, that's M. Soyer, chef de nos batteries de cuisine, and if you go and speak to him, you'll find he'll talk to you for several hours about the way your meat is wasted; and so I wish you good morning, sir, and every success in trade and commerce to enable you to pay all the gentlemen you have seen to-day, as well as a speedy entry into Sebastopol."
At one o'clock on the 30th August the camp was shaken by a prodigious explosion. A tumbrel, from which the French were discharging powder into one of the magazines near the Mamelon, was struck by a shell, which bursting as it crashed through the roof of the carriage, ignited the cartridges; 1400 rounds, lOlbs each, exploded, shattering to atoms the magazine, and surroundingworks, and whirling in all directions over the face of the Mamolen and beyond it, 150 officers and men. Of these, 40 were killed upon the spot, and the rest were scorched and burnt, or wounded by splinters, stones, and the shot and shell which were thrown into the air by the fiery eruption. A bright moon lighted up the whole scene, and shed its rays upon a huge pillar of smoke and dust,, which rose into the air from the Mamelon, and, towering to an immense height, unfolded itself and let fall from its clustering* waves of smoke and sulphurous vapour a black precipitate of earth, fine dust, and pebbles, mingled with miserable fragments, which dropped like rain upon the works below. There was silence for an instant, and but for an instant, as the sullen thunder rolled slowly away and echoed along the heights of Inkerman and Mackenzie. Then the.Russians, leaping to their guns, cheered loudly, but their voices were soon smothered in the crash of the French and English batteries, which played fiercely upon their works. The Russians replied, but they were unable to take any advantage of our mischance, owing to the firmness of the French in the advanced trenches, and the steadiness with which the cannonade was continued. The dark cloud hung like a pall for nearly an hour over the place, reddening every moment with the reflection of the flashes of the artillery, which boomed incessantly till dawn. The musjack tar's theatre. 320